Something in Ms. Birdie’s tone snuck past Frankie’s armor, tamped down the fire in her gut, and caused her to hesitate. But only for a second. Frankie, after all, had right on her side.
“This had better be good, Birdie,” she snapped before slamming the door and whirling back around. “Because I’m already late for—”
“It’s Ms. Birdie,” her boss interrupted, folding her hands on the desk. Her demeanor was calm, but her voice carried the unmistakable weight of a thin-ice warning. “And you’re late for absolutely nothing.”
“How can you say that? There’s a staff meeting at this very moment, and Isabella is running it.”
“As if that’s a crisis. She’s done a fabulous job of stepping into your shoes while continuing to run her side of the magazine.”
“Of course she has. I was her mentor. I taught her utterly everything she knows.” In a very unFrankie-like action, she flicked an imaginary speck from the sleeve of her cream silk blouse like a Nervous Nellie. She quickly clasped her hands behind her back where they couldn’t betray her.
“Then why the concern?”
“Don’t be dense.” Frankie winced. Her tone, sharp enough to draw blood, made her sound less like a misunderstood genius and more like an unredeemable bitch. Exhibiting yet another nervous tic, she adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched in her hair like a crown. A movement that usually soothed her frayed edges. “Isabella and I are enemies,” she added, as if that excused her bite.
“She doesn’t return the sentiment,” Ms. Birdie said, her voice cool.
Frankie decided to shift gears. Isabella had been the woman’s favorite from day one of her employment atNaked Runway. “Why am I not being allowed back at work?”
“We’ve arranged for you to head to Gi Gi’s Crossing.”
“We!”Wemeanthehad once again manipulated Ms. Birdie into doing his anti-Frankie bidding. “If Mr. Uptight thinks he can send me away to some sort of anger management rehab facility—”
Ms. Birdie raised a hand, silencing her mid-rant. “Gi Gi’s Crossing is a newly minted small town with a delightfully colorful past. You’ll run a bookstore there while the owner is on maternity leave. Perhaps you’ve heard of the town under its rather unfortunate birth moniker… Nippleton Falls?”
For one brief, horrific moment, Frankie’s ability to verbally slice and dice failed her.
She blinked while her vocal cords fought their shackles.
Realizing her legs still worked, she stormed across the room. “You cannot be serious. Nippleton? I don’t do small-town anything,let alone a Nippleton bookstore.” Everyone had heard of Nippleton, and not just because of the name. Years ago, a viral listicle called“10 Towns You’d Move to If You Hated Yourself”had featured it at #3.
Frankie had reposted it with a caption:“Honestly, #3 feels generous.”
Ms. Birdie’s expression remained unchanged. “It’s Gi Gi’s Crossing now, and you don’t do small-town manners either, Frankie. And that’s exactly the problem.”
“I beg to differ. The problem is you’re under the ludicrous assumption I’ll willingly go to Nippleton and run a bookstore.”
“This isn’t negotiable,” Ms. Birdie continued, her tone immovable as a glacier. “You threw a stiletto that hit a man in the head. And while your reason had merit, that kind of behavior doesn’t just blow over in this industry. Therapy was step one. Gi Gi’s Crossing is step two.”
“For the love of all that’s holy during Fashion Week, will this torture ever end?!” Frankie snapped. “I endured the torment of spilling my guts to a stranger, and now you’re exiling me to some backwater town to babysit books?”
“Think of it as a chance to prove you’ve changed. A chance for you to practice being kind to people.”
Fuck nice. It was for wimps and Santa Claus enthusiasts. “And if I refuse?”
Ms. Birdie’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes. “Then I’ll have no choice but to let you go.”
The words hit Frankie like one of her dad’s backhanded slaps. For all her bravado, the threat cut deep. Her iron-clad contract withNaked Runwaydidn’t cover stiletto throwing…no matter how altruistic the action had been.
Still, the idea of being banished to Nippleton, rebranded or not, made her stomach churn. A shiny new name couldn’t scrub away the decades of late-night punchlines it had endured. What the hell did newly minted even mean when it came to a small town? Weren’t they all older than Roman sandals?
“And what exactly will my time there look like?” she asked, her voice low, wary as she tried to cave with dignity.
“You’ll run the bookstore and its book clubs. Make friends. And most importantly, practice kindness without looking like you’re plotting someone’s demise.” Ms. Birdie, to her credit, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone devoid of smugness. “Consider it a social experiment.”
“A social experiment?” Frankie grabbed at the bone. “For whom? You? Mr. Uptight.”
Ms. Birdie glanced away.
